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“What do you think, Giulia?” Franco asks my mom. “Isn’t it about time Francesca gets married? She’s already twenty. Well past her prime.”
I sink lower in my seat as Mom’s attention is pulled from the twins. “What? What about marriage?”
“Francesca.” Franco nods at me.
Realization dawns in Mom’s eyes. “Oh. Right. Yes, well … I mean, sure. I guess it is time to get her married.”
I feel all eyes swing to me, and I want to bury myself under the ground and never leave again. When it came to my two older sisters, Emilia and Gemma, Mom spent so much energy into making sure their marriages furthered our family’s influence, so it hurts that she barely seems to care about mine.
Emilia’s presence is missed at our table. She lives in LA with her husband, Marco, and has been for the past six years. I keep thinking I’ll miss her less, but it lingers. Just as much as I miss my father, who’s death can still leave me waking up in the middle of the night, gasping for breath.
I feel like I should speak because everyone is still looking at me, but I have no clue what to say. Thankfully, Lucia starts crying that she doesn’t want to eat carrots, drawing everyone’s attention away from me.
“Lucia,” Mom snaps. “You’re five now. Stop throwing temper tantrums.”
“No,” she says deliberately, and with added pizzaz, she knocks her plate over the table, sending the carrots flying across the floor. Lucia is trouble, and I hope she grows out of it one day.
Mom instantly tears up. “I can’t do this.” Her chair scrapes on the floor as she gets up and leaves. It’s an awkward, tense moment.
I can’t stand it, so I get up, grab the broom, and begin cleaning up the carrots.
Franco follows Mom upstairs, and the moment he leaves the room, it’s like everyone can breathe again. “What a brat,” Antonio mutters, looking at Lucia.
She’s full on crying now. Mia pats her back, but Lucia brushes her off. Mia shrugs and returns to looking at her zits in the reflection of her spoon.
“I hear crying,” a deep male voice says as a man walks into the room. Theo Williams, Cecilia’s new personal guard. He also helps around the house by guarding the perimeter on occasion. At thirty, he’s the youngest of the guards and, frankly, the most handsome. With a rugged appearance, it’s no wonder Cecilia blushes every time he comes into a room.
“All good here,” Viktor explains. “Just some simple temper tantrums. You know how five-year-olds can be. They all hate carrots.”
“I don’t,” Luca interrupts, making a show of eating a carrot.
Viktor points at him. “See? Already proving me wrong.”
Theo nods while gazing around the room. “All right. If everyone is fine here, I’ll return to my station.” He leaves the room with an upright back and a military way of walking. Cecilia looks disappointed when he goes.
I throw the rest of the carrots away.
Since Lucia is still crying and no one is paying her any attention, I go over to her and rub her back. “You don’t need to keep crying,” I tell her. “But you need to learn to be more respectful.”
She shoves me as she runs away from the table. I don’t bother following her. Comforting our younger siblings is Emilia’s ability. Not mine. Luca follows his twin sister. The moment they leave, the chaos goes down exponentially.
Antonio sits up straighter in his seat as he says, “I don’t have time to deal with family dinners. I need to be training. I’ll be eighteen in a month. It’s almost time for me to take over the family business.”
“Tell that to Franco,” Gemma mutters.
Cecilia sighs, taking a sip of her water. “It’s your turn to take over,” she says to Antonio. “You have Dad’s pendant. It’s your legacy. Uncle Franco needs to learn he won’t be boss forever.”
“As I said.” Gemma grips her wine glass. “Tell that to Franco.”
Viktor leans across the table and shakes Antonio’s hand. “You’ve got my support.”
“Thanks, Viktor.” Antonio smiles faintly. I still remember when he was all awkward limbs and height. Now he’s grown into his body and will make a formidable boss. If it means kicking Franco out, I wouldn’t mind. Franco brings negative energy with him everywhere he goes.
“Somone should go check on Mom,” Gemma says.
“Why?” Mia asks, still not looking away from her reflection. She’s going to drive herself crazy constantly looking at her pimples.
Gemma frowns, her eyes darkening. “Just … someone should go check on her.”
